


Without My Heart, What Can I Do?

by tethealla



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-11
Updated: 2010-03-11
Packaged: 2017-10-07 21:25:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/69392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tethealla/pseuds/tethealla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soon after WWII, Belarus comes to his shores, her heroes leading the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Without My Heart, What Can I Do?

**Author's Note:**

> Excuse my fail history and writing plz. :(

> To say he had been expecting her would have been a lie. But, there Byelorussia was at his shores, staring at America like he was some strange beast. She was all bruises and broken bones and the coldest of glares he had ever seen, huddled a coat far too big for her slight frame. Even after the few years that had passed since the war had ended, she had been nearly laid to waste and she had not mended. So, there she was, at his shores, with throes of her people at her side, her cold eyes boring into him with distrust and _wonder_.
> 
> He smiled at her nervously in response - perhaps the looming, constant presence of her Brother made his heart skip (or maybe it was merely the beauty that hid behind the bruises on her face) - and offered her his hand. She was here, along with those of her people that were fleeing Russia's growing arms, to come to his lands. He knew that she herself would not stay long, but he would welcome her all the same, just like he did with each nation that graced his shores. Her people had come before, naturally, but this was the first time he had seen her here. He knew it was important if it brought her out of her brother's hold to come with these people.
> 
> Byelorussia did not accept his hand, did not show any sign of gratitude, but merely stared and assessed him, judging him like she would a crumbling wall. It was hard to keep that smile steady.
> 
> "Welcome!" he finally said, growing nervous with the passing silence. He hated silence like this. It made him think of darker things and the growing tension with that man-child across the sea. Again, she made no move, did nothing but stare and look and seem to cut him down to size with those horribly blue eyes. He could not help but fidget. "What- what brings you here?"
> 
> She was quiet a moment longer (again that stare, as if she expected him to jump her!) before she spoke, her voice as icy and cold as her eyes let on. It was high and fair though, even with the crackle of pain that he heard laced behind the steadiness she tried to display. (Perhaps he should _shudder_ instead of continue to fidget.) "I am here with my people. There are..." she trailed off, looking at the small group that had trailed with her. "...Important ones."
> 
> Now that piqued his interest. "Really? Who would bring you over here?" America meant that honestly - just like most of what spewed from his mouth, even with the strange things he found himself saying out of step as of late. He knew from tales of the young woman that she always trailed after her brother, even in the olden days, and her life as a shadow had only intensified as of late. He remembered Lithuania - even as the man had breathed airily about her beauty and ways - speak of that cold glint in her eyes that could rival her brother's.
> 
> And in the few times he had met with her, he could not disagree. But, here, alone with her for once, and without the true pressure of politics hanging over them, he saw much more than the cold behind her eyes. Right now, there was a fondness, a protectiveness he had seen like on a mother's face, and he suddenly felt as if he was looking at her for real for once, and not that shadow she portrayed.
> 
> And that look almost seemed to flare as soon as he opened his mouth, a manic sort of look straining the youthful edges of Byelorussia's face. She was intense, and that strayed into her voice, with that same protectiveness he thought he had recognized. "They are... important. To _me_." She meant that - that this was of her own heart, not the Soviet's, not Russia, not her sister, not Lithuania, not any other that had laid claim to her lands or to the causes she had to stand for. No, this was hers. Those men, those small cluster of people that had come, were _hers_. "They are..." she paused, as if looking for the right words to say. "They are _my_ heroes."
> 
> At that, America could not help but smile. Heroes. He always loved heroes. And they were _hers_, _she_ was proud of them - proud enough to venture out from her Brother's growing Iron Curtain to lead them to America's lands.
> 
> "Then I will protect them, like I do any hero," he said, his tone as reassuring and full of any promise that he could muster. And he meant it - he was proud of his own heroes, proud of all the other people from all around the world that deserved such a title and did not seek it. So, he was happy to accept hers.
> 
> Byelorussia stared at him again, those icy eyes boring new holes into his grin. "You must. I..." At this, her tone grew quiet, and he heard that crackle of pain grow stronger for a moment, saw that flicker of something like resentment and hurt in her eyes. "I cannot lose another."
> 
> He went quiet now. He knew this was why she had ventured to him, to make sure these people were protected. (And away from her brother.) She wanted to make sure that the land they strayed to was suited for them, even if she disagreed. She was sacrificing a bit of her heart to him, and she had to know that this is where it would be safe.
> 
> So he smiled. He extended his hands, reaching for the farthest regions of his skies. "You don't have to worry! Here, we are all heroes!" he said, and laughed, even as she glared at him flatly, obviously not appreciative of the joke.
> 
> But it was now, now as his hands were stretched, that she finally accepted his hand. And he knew, even if the world changed even more - which it always did - he had some sliver of trust in that stone heart of hers. And he had the heroes she - and he as well - would treasure, protected in his own arms. (He always thought that hearts always worked better in pairs of two, after all. And pieces of hers was better than none at all.)

 

QUICK FACT TIME.

_Byelorussia_ \- Belarus was not called Belarus until after her independence from the Soviet Union, and had been traditionally called Byelorussia/Belorussia/etc. - or "White Russia." Considering this is set somewhere in the 1950s, she would not have been called Belarus yet. :'D;

_she had been nearly laid to waste and she had not mended_ \- Belarus was the hardest hit in the Soviet Union during WWII - she lost nearly a fourth to a third of her people, and lost most of her cities and industry as well. Her population did not reach pre-war levels until the 70s. It took her many years to rebuild, and she relied heavily on Russia for support.

_"They are_ my _heroes."_ \- This fic is supposed to loosely mention the [Bielski brothers](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bielski_partisans), who helped save over 1,000 Jews from the Nazis by hiding and fighting in the forests of Belarus for over two years. After fleeing from the Soviets and living in Israel for a time, they immigrated to America sometime in the 50s, and lived there the rest of their lives. (And do not quote me, since I am unsure.)

_"I cannot lose another."_ \- Alas, while three of the brothers survived, one was conscripted into the Red Army before they could escape, and was killed in the Battle of Königsberg.


End file.
